


Truth Behind The Stories

by Kiraly



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen, Growing Up, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: When he was a child, Reynir's siblings always came home with the best stories. But it turns out that the stories he needs most come after he returns from the Silent World.





	Truth Behind The Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this week's Synchronised Screaming flash fiction challenge (except it got out of hand and ended up kind of long, oops!) The prompt was: 
> 
> Reynir's Siblings - truth behind the adventure stories
> 
> Also I put the PTSD tag on just to be sure, but it's mostly just mentioned in the background, no specifics.

Most of the time, it was no fun having older siblings who traveled constantly. They were hardly ever home, and Reynir had to play all by himself when he was finished with his chores. There were only so many games he could play with only the sheep for company, after all.

But when they came home, it was a whole different story. Or  _ stories _ , actually, because they always brought tales of their adventures back with them. For as long as he could remember, those stories had been a bright spot in Reynir’s life. He couldn’t see the outside world himself, but he could live it through their words.

“When it raised its ugly head from the waves, I grabbed it by its deformed—”

“Ólafur!” Mamma interrupted the story with a worried frown. “Don’t go giving your brother nightmares, now.” She spooned more stew into Reynir’s bowl and watched until he dipped his spoon in and started eating again.

Ólafur laughed and ruffled Reynir’s hair. “He’s fine! He has the heart of a fighter, don’t you Reynir? I bet you’d have been right there with me, facing the beast head-on.”

Reynir puffed up his chest with pride—his big brother thought he was  _ brave!  _ He held the story inside him when he went to bed that night, telling himself that anyone brave enough to grab a sea-beast barehanded would not be scared of the dark.

* * *

 

When Guðrun came back from her stint in Sweden, she brought licorice candy, a brightly painted wooden horse, and countless stories about the crazy antics of the Cleanser unit she’d been attached to. 

“We thought we were going to get out of there quietly, but then Josef used too much accelerant and then the whole thing exploded. All of it. Gone.” She told the whole story with a neutral expression, as though huge explosions were all part of an average day. Reynir didn't see how she could go on calmly eating potatoes while talking about that.

Evidently Pabbi agreed, because he shook his head. "You'd think trained Cleansers would be more careful. What if something had happened to you?" He and Mamma exchanged a worried look. "I know you're following your dreams, and we support you, but if you ever want to move home—"

Guðrun didn't argue, just kept eating her potatoes. "I know you do. And you know why I have to do this." Her gaze fell on Reynir. "And anyway, someone has to go out and blow up all the raggedy old troll-infested buildings, right? That way maybe Reynir can visit Sweden someday."

"If they ever lift the travel ban," Mamma said, “Which I’m sure they won’t.” Her voice took on a slightly artificial note. "More potatoes, anyone?"

It wasn't the thought of visiting Sweden—or visiting anywhere outside of Iceland, for that matter—that kept Reynir up that night, though. Instead, he kept seeing a burst of light and a building falling to ruins while a crew of Cleansers shouted and congratulated each other. He wondered what it would be like, to set the world on fire like that.

* * *

 

Sometimes, the stories that came home were less full of adventure. Sometimes they were full of long pauses, sentences abandoned halfway through with guilty glances directed at Reynir. Sometimes he pressed for details and was told, not unkindly, that such things needn’t worry him until he was older.

So it felt like he’d finally become an adult when they started telling the truly scary stories, the ones that didn’t always end well for everyone.

“And that’s when I knew what death looks like,” Bjarni said. He was home on extended leave, after some kind of accident that their parents hadn't wanted to talk about when they gave Reynir the news of his imminent return. Apart from a few broken ribs and an ankle that was healing nicely, he was fine on the outside. But he'd been home for a week already, and this was the first time he'd spoken. One minute he'd been picking at his dinner, and the next he was telling them about the incident that left him injured and four of his crewmates dead.

Their mother opened her mouth, and for a moment Reynir thought she was going to send him away—stories of grisly death weren't fit for a child's ears. But instead, she focused on Bjarni. "That's it! You're moving home." It started an argument that came up again and again, every day until Bjarni's leave was over and he shipped out again. 

"Don't get me wrong, it was nice to have a break," he told Reynir as they waited for the stagecoach. "But I have to go. I can't stay here forever, there's a whole world out there."

Reynir sighed. "Yeah, I know." Even knowing that it wasn't all sunshine and palm trees, he still wished he could go out and see for himself, just once. "It's so unfair that I can't even leave the country because of that dumb ban on non-immune people traveling internationally! I mean, I wouldn't even be a risk after a good quarantine anyway, right? You get it, right?" Bjarni probably didn't, not really, but he could be sympathetic anyway.

"Yeah." And then he added, as though it was some unimportant afterthought: "You can leave if you wanna, though. That ban was lifted."

"WHAT?"

That night, Reynir lay awake for a long time, thinking seriously about leaving Iceland.

* * *

 

Hildur was the only one of his siblings home when Reynir returned from the Silent World. She didn't fuss over him like Mamma, or slap him on the shoulder and send him off to do pointless chores like Pabbi. She didn't even ask if he wanted to talk about it, like everyone else he'd encountered since the bedraggled remnant of the crew met the quarantine ship. She just sat by him at meals and talked about silly things the sheep had done, or whittled away at her latest carving in companionable silence. And she stayed quiet too, even when she heard him sobbing one night and came in to perch on the end of his bed.

"I'm such an idiot," he said, "thinking I could go out and have an adventure. I'm not fearless like Ólafur or calm like Guðrun or tough like Bjarni. I was scared, and stupid, and only managed to do anything right by accident." He rolled over to face the wall.

Hildur patted his shoulder, then lay down next to him. "It never goes away," she said, softly, "but it gets easier."

The next time he woke up from nightmares laced with the stench of burned troll, Hildur brought a lamp and a stack of letters. "I know you said you don't want to talk to anyone," she said, "But the others wanted you to hear this." She opened the first missive and started to read.

_ The first time I saw a live troll _ , Ólafur's letter began, _ I was so scared I pissed myself. Would have made me the brunt of all the jokes in my squad, except one of the others actually managed to stab himself in the leg when he was trying to kill it.  I don't think any of us got a wink of sleep that night, worrying that something else would come for us. _

_ What I mean to say is, only stupid people aren't scared of what's out there. Being brave just means doing what we have to even when we're scared. _

Guðrun's letter was longer, and Hildur had to skim through a list of questions before she got to the heart of it. 

_ I heard you came home a mage,  _ she said,  _ and have been offered a place at the Academy as soon as you want to go. I know it’s probably the last thing you want to think about right now—more school! But you might find you enjoy it. _

_ That’s one of the things I’ve learned here in Sweden, I guess. How to find joy in every little thing. Whether it’s a tiny spark to start a cookfire, or a boom big enough to take out a city block—you have to hang on to the things that make you happy.  _

Hildur set Guðrun's letter aside and opened the final sheet of paper. It was stained and a little crumpled; Bjarni had never been the most tidy of correspondents.  _ Everyone else has probably given you a pep talk,  _ it read,  _ and you know I'm just as likely to fling you headfirst into trouble as I am to encourage you to do something good for yourself.  _ That much was true; if it hadn't been for Bjarni's words, Reynir might never have left home.  _ But for what it's worth, I'm glad you got out there. The world is a lot bigger than a sheep farm, and someone like you deserves to be part of it. _

_ Having said that, though, there's nothing wrong with taking time to grieve. People will tell you to cheer up, to slap on a smile and act like everything is fine.  _

_ Fuck those people. _

_ Sometimes life throws terrible things at you, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. And when it's over, you can't go back to pretending the world hasn't changed. That YOU haven't changed. Change happens, and sometimes it sucks. Don't let anyone tell you different. _

_ Anyway, once you've taken the time to mourn and recover and figure out who you are after all the changes, then you can worry about what to do next. If you can't figure it out, I'll be happy to come home and kick your ass until you do. _

When Hildur finished reading, she sat quiet for a long time. Eventually, she said, "I never told you why I came home, did I?"

Reynir shook his head; he couldn't talk around the lump in his throat. 

"Well. I was stationed on one of the patrol ships," Hildur said, "like the one Bjarni's on. And it was fine, and I liked my crewmates and the job. But...I wasn't...happy." She took a deep breath. "I liked seeing the world, and I liked being useful. But when I heard you had gone away and left the farm, I thought...there might be a way I could be more useful at home."

That stirred Reynir out of his silence. "What? How?" 

Hildur shrugged. "You know, the usual ways. Helping with the sheep, getting the wool ready for sale, patching the barn roof so Pabbi doesn't fall off and break his neck."

“But that’s...it’s not exactly…”

“Glamorous?” Hildur asked. She laid the letters carefully on Reynir’s bedside table and stood up. “I know. But I don’t care. Sometimes the best parts of life don’t make good stories.” She turned and left him, taking the lamp with her.

Reynir lay in the dark, cramped in his too-small childhood bed, and thought about her words. Thought about everything his siblings had told him, trying to reconcile it with the stories they’d told over the years. And he thought about the letter from the Academy of Sei ður lying under his bed, gathering dust where he’d flung it. He fell asleep thinking that maybe there was a way he could be useful and brave, burning his own brand into the world while holding firm when bad times came. And he knew that whatever he did, he’d have his family to support him.


End file.
